to be young (and in love) in new york city
by princesaevie
Summary: "Cheryl Blossom," she says your name like an omen and a fact and an inconvenience all at once, "we haven't officially met yet, have we?" — cheronica, au
1. winter

**A/N:** this is the "veronica doesnt move to riverdale bc her dads embezzlement wasnt exposed but jason still got murdered bc he doesnt know what a condom is and had to run away w polly so bughead exposes papa blossom for being the killer so penelope burns thorn hill down and takes cheryl and nana rose to nyc and enrolls cheryl in spence ft Extremely self indulgent jewish blossom family headcanoning" fic that no one asked for or wanted

* * *

 **December**

You arrive in New York after flying coach for the first time in your life and with oversized sunglasses covering up bloodshot eyes and Jason's old track hoodie over a pair of gross $5 leggings that aren't warm enough and you've never felt more ashamed. Here, your name means nothing. In Riverdale, back _home_ , your name is tarnished.

Because Jason didn't want in on Daddy's drug dealing and you were stupid enough to help him try to run away.

Because Daddy caught him at the river and had him _tortured_ and then shot him point blank.

Because a fucking _Cooper_ and her hobo of a boyfriend found out and told everyone.

And now you're here. Eyes red and puffy, hair messy and hidden under your hood, lips clean of your maple-flavored lipstick. Everything that once made you powerful, that made people like Betty Cooper fear you, is gone. Ruined. Even Thornhill is in fucking ashes now. Mommy had made sure of that, made sure you had a reason to leave town before everyone found out.

You'd told Josie though, of course you had called Josie and told her everything with your voice cracked and snot dripping down your chin. Even the memory disgusts you now. That had been the last thing you did in Riverdale. You wept, like a _bitch_ , whimpering and sniveling so much Josie had barely even been able to understand what you were saying. It was a complete reflection of what the once great Blossom family had become: pathetic. Utterly _pathetic_.

It was no wonder Mommy hadn't even wanted to fly with you. The official reason was so she could make arrangements in New York with Nana Rose (who had, to the dismay of your mother you're sure, wheeled herself out of the fire) but you know your mother. You know she hates you. She always has. And now, with Jason and your father both dead, she always will. All you can ever be to her is a reminder of what happened, of which twin lived.

(After Jason's funeral, the _real_ one, the one they held after the sheriff's son found Jason's corpse washed up on the shore of Sweetwater River, she had gripped your chin, her nails digging into your skin, and whispered to you that she wished it had been _you_.)

You get in the car she's sent for you and you force yourself not to think about it.

In typical Blossom staff fashion, the driver makes no effort to talk to you. He barely even grunts for you to get out when he stops in front of the Dakota. Your mother makes even less effort to talk to you when she lets you into the apartment.

She still wishes it had been you Daddy killed.

(You do too.)

For the umpteenth time since Jason's lifeless body washed up, you go to bed with an empty stomach and sob yourself into something adjacent to sleep. And, for more than the umpteenth time in your life, if your mother hears you crying, she ignores it. Maybe even relishes in it.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Your first week in New York is spent almost entirely in some stupid espresso bar on 72nd. You leave your room at eight AM every day without breakfast and without seeing your mother and you don't come home until the day has passed, just in time for dinner. Dinner is quickly becoming the only meal you eat which your mother seems to find more and more pathetic each time it happens. Her disgust with you only makes you want to avoid her more.

Avoiding her is easy until your first week is up. She stops you before you can leave for the cafe you've taken to. She doesn't even have to go near you to do it, all it takes is a look.

It's the first time she stops you from leaving and the first time she really _looks_ at you. The look she gives you is, as per Blossom tradition, irritated at best. Another reminder of what a nuisance you are to her and to your family. "Cheryl," she says it like it's a chore to even acknowledge you, "you're starting at Spence next week."

"... I didn't know they took mid year applicants," you murmur.

Her teeth grind almost violently before she speaks again, "they _don't_ , they made an exception. Sit down and eat breakfast, I'm tired of you _sneaking out_."

If you ask her to explain, she might just hit you. She hasn't laid a hand on you in some time, not since the funeral two months ago, and before that she'd only hit you a handful of times but right now, you're sure she's volatile. "An exception, based on what?" you ask anyway, your whole body tense in preparation for a blow.

She doesn't hit you. She moves like she wants to, but then she remembers Nana Rose by the dining table and she doesn't. "I don't _know_ , maybe they took _pity_ on you since your father would be rotting in _jail_ if he was _alive_ and your house __burned down_._"

You flinch at that and don't push any further. You'd almost forgotten what your mother was capable of.

 **January**

The weekend ends without incident. She sends you to the campus to be acquainted with it and in the main office, they tell you to come back for your schedule before classes start Monday. And then—Monday morning, your mother wakes you at six AM.

She's hissing at you for being so _lazy_ that she needs to wake you and then she's thrown something in your face—a uniform, right, Spence is a private school so of course you'll be wearing a uniform. She doesn't vacate your room for you to change though, instead she stands at the foot of your bed with her arms crossed like you've done something wrong _again_.

"Well?" she snaps, "get _dressed_ , Cheryl."

"Now?" you ask, blinking stupidly because you're too disoriented to know better.

You've never seen your mother inhale so sharply. "Yes, _now_. Take that _goddamn_ jacket off, Cheryl."

Not wanting her to yell any louder, you tug it over your head. Immediately, your mother is tugging at your arms, twisting them around to examine them. Her grip is too tight but you keep your mouth firmly shut.

"Take _his_ sweats off too," she orders.

Silently, you comply. She's tugging at your legs to look at them in less than a heartbeat, pulling at the skin of your thighs to get a better look.

"Satisfied?" your voice comes out small and weak and un-Blossom-like. The question is entirely, pathetically earnest.

Your mistake costs you, of course. She strikes you hard and fast with the back of her palm. Your cheek is redder than your hair, you're sure, but not bruising. She would never dare to hit you hard enough to make you bruise or bleed. (Bruising and bleeding had been what Daddy did, he cared less about appearances and more about dominance than Mommy ever has.)

"You are going to _keep_ them clean, your uniform won't have long sleeves forever and I will be damned if you _ruin_ New York for us too by making people ask questions, Cheryl," she's got your chin in her hands, nails digging into the flesh, "do you _hear_ me?"

Choking on your own tears, you nod.

No cutting must be a new house rule. After seventeen years of living as Penelope and Clifford Blossom's daughter, you know better than to even consider breaking it. After all, if Daddy had killed Jason for disobeying him, you didn't even want to consider what Mommy would do to you.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

You arrive at school perfectly on time and with your signature spider broach proudly pinned against your blouse and your signature maple-flavored lipstick even prouder across your mouth. Any trace of this morning has been swallowed up into the air. _Weakness_ , your mother had reminded you before you left the car, _will not be permitted_. Her words echoing in your head, you lift your chin to look down at your new classmates. If any of them know who you are, or what your father did, they don't show it as they watch you, not all at once but in stolen glances.

It happens like this:

First, you flick your wrist to pull your hood off before you enter the office. Then, a girl with raven hair, standing at least three inches beneath you, bursts out, snickering and arm in arm with a blonde girl. Lastly, the whole world stops.

You've never met her in your life but you _know_ who she is. You've seen pictures of her, read a few articles about her out of gossip magazines. Veronica Lodge. A ruthless socialite, daughter of Hiram and Hermione Lodge, both people your parents have brought you up to despise. You should immediately hate Veronica, before you've even spoken to her, the same way you grew up hating the Cooper sisters.

Just because you _should_ doesn't mean you do. As much as you know you're supposed to hate her, as much as you don't want to disappoint your mother even further, Veronca Lodge steals the breath from your lungs before you can even try to hate her. The pictures you've seen have _nothing_ on what Veronica looks like in _person_.

And then Veronica breezes past you like you're not even there.

It's the most inadequate anyone not your parents has ever left you feeling. You tell yourself to move on anyway.

For a week and a half, it's easy. Spence is nothing. You make sure people know you're better than them, you don't make friends at school, you go to your classes, you do your work, and then you go home. Lather, rinse, repeat. You haven't even called Josie yet to bitch about the girls you're going to school with or check in on how she is.

A reason to call Josie comes Thursday at lunch.

You don't eat but you sit with some of the passable girls in your year pretending not to be lonely. Your heart kind of hearts, wishing you could sit with Jason again, you would even take Ginger and Tina. You don't let yourself linger on the feeling, taking to engaging in gossip trade with the bimbos around you instead.

Veronica Lodge herself disrupts your new normal.

"Cheryl Blossom," she says your name like an omen and a fact and an inconvenience all at once, "we haven't officially met yet, have we?" She feels no need to tap your shoulder to get your attention as she stands as tall as someone her height can, proud and in a manner you've never seen but recognize as stupidly Lodge-like. She looks so good doing it you feel your jaw clench.

It's infuriating. _She's_ infuriating, only a junior yet standing there so coolly like she owns the entire school. Not even introducing herself like she _knows_ she doesn't have to. Putting on a bright but disingenuous smile, you say fuck you as nicely as a rich girl can, "should we have?"

There's a slight twitch to her mouth. She wants to tear you to shreds right then and there for that. "Everyone who's anyone should meet me, or... I guess Blossoms aren't really anybody now, right? Not after the family business went _south_?" she talks like venom and she looks even better doing this than she does just standing there.

"If that were the case, I don't think I would be living at the Dakota, now would I?" your teeth are flashed in less of a smile, more of a snarl now.

"I suppose," Veronica hums, "but even the nicest places get rat infestations."

It takes more self control than you knew you had to not lunge at her. You _hate_ her, not even just because she's a Lodge. You hate her in a _personal_ way that you never quite hated Betty or Polly. You hate the color of her eyes and the shape of her mouth and the way that she talks.

"They get cockroaches too," you agree, "you would know that."

Her lips purse together in a half smile. "Maybe so, Heather Chandler, but at least I know where my daddy's money actually comes from. I'll be seeing you." She's gone before you can say anything else, her arm linked with some bimbo you hadn't realized was there. She's wearing blue and black but you see red.

 _This_ is definitely something to call Josie about.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

She picks up on the second ring. "Cher? Jesus, girl, I was gettin' worried your mom did something to you."

"I'm fine, Josie. Physically, at least. I'm going to Spence and the girls here are awful, private schools are nothing like _Gossip Girl_."

"Well I hope nobody's doing all that coke. And that there are less white girls. What's up though?"

"Nana Rose is looking more stable than Mommy, Veronica Lodge _hates_ me, I have to take dance to graduate, and I'm supposed to join an extracurricular but Mommy won't let me do cheer here and it's too late to do student council."

"Extracurriculars... like you're not the queen of those, little miss 'I ran my damn school district.'"

You laugh at that. "Shut up, Josie, it's not like you don't run that dump now."

"That's fair... do they have a Jewish culture club?"

"Fuck you."

"No thanks, I don't do white girls."

You bite your tongue, knowing exactly what she _wants_ you to say. And then—"I don't do girls, period."

"Oh, so you gotta lie that hard 'cause I rejected you? It's like that? Alright, Cher. Whatever you say."

"I _don't_ do girls," you repeat. Your voice comes out strained and dishonest.

Josie sighs. "Yeah, you just have that _thing_ sometimes, like you had for me and Polly. Sorry for implying you're like _me_."

That stings. "I'm sorry," you mumble.

"Me too, sugar. I love your difficult ass though."

"Not as much as I love your difficult ass. How are things?"

From the way Josie inhales, you know you're going to miss all of your fifth period now.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

You're going to spend your third Saturday in New York drunk off your ass. You've already decided. It's been several weeks since the last time you drank anything and, after watching the video of your father murdering your beloved brother, waking up to your house burning down around you, and catching a glimpse of your father burning with the house, you think you get to be wasted.

Pulling on a coat, you press a kiss to Nana Rose's temple. She hums disapprovingly like she knows what you're doing as you slip out of the Dakota without an explanation but you know she'll buzz you back in before Mommy gets home late (again, that's becoming a pattern in life).

"Siri, where's the nearest bar?" you ask, your breath fogging up your screen.

The results pop up with Siri's ever annoying voice and you scowl at them. The Dakota Bar (like you'd be stupid enough to go there), Malachy's Donegal Inn, (the Irish, you think you'll pass), A.G. Kitchen (not exactly a _bar_ ).

You scowl even harder when the voice of Veronica Lodge cuts into your thoughts. "Did your hair get redder or is it just me?"

"Fuck off, Lodge," you huff, "I'm not in the mood."

The snow crunches under her boots as she walks over to you. "I'd hope not, it's no fun when people want to be insulted," she drops her chin onto your shoulder in an over-friendly manner, "you asked Siri about bars near here? Just how small is Riverdale?"

You're too aware of the feeling of her breath against the skin of your neck not quite covered by fabric. "It's _quaint_ ," you murmur, "now get _off_ of me, you dumb dyke."

She fakes a gasp. "My, my, Cheryl, homophobia? Riverdale really is _quaint_ ," she laughs but it comes out weirdly tense, "believe me, blue isn't the warmest color so you can _relax_." Her arms snake around you for a second before she's snatched your phone out of your hands.

Heat surges to your cheeks. "Some people don't like parasites latching onto them," you hiss, trying to grab your phone back.

"Out of the _kindness_ of my heart, we can call a temporary truce so I can take you to my favorite bar. They don't card and a bunch of rich older guys whose wives won't sleep with them anymore go there. You don't have to sleep with them either, but they will buy you drinks," she hums, pocketing your phone, "now come on if you ever want your phone back."

She tugs on your hand and, in the most un-Blossom-like fashion, you follow after.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Twenty something minutes later, she finally lets go and tells you you're here. She leaves our hand cold and doesn't hold the door for you but she does wait until you're inside to sit down at the bar. She orders for both of you, a French 75 for you and a Tom Collins for her. You ask what in hell a French 75 is and she flashes bright, white teeth at you before asking if you like champagne.

You roll your eyes at the non-answer and don't answer her question either.

Before you know it, you've let Veronica fucking Lodge, of all people, buy you two of those stupidly good French 75's. You still don't know what's in them but they taste better than any of the shitty liquor you could've gotten in Riverdale. You're not drunk yet though, which is just a bit infuriating because that's all you wanted out of tonight.

"I'm tipsy at best, _Veronica_ ," you huff.

Her eyes roll and she shakes her head, "hence why you're still no fun. Get her a shot of whiskey please, Chris, and make it fast."

You down the whiskey as fast as Chris puts the shot glass in front of you. He shoots Veronica a look that you can't decipher and Veronica nods. He sets another down on the counter for you. And then another. And another. And then—you're drunk. Definitely drunk.

And Veronica... _isn't_. She's smiling at you with something you would recognize sober. Sober. Why is Veronica sober?

"Drunk yet?" she asks.

God. Her voice is so... regal. Like she knows she's better than you. Very New York. You have something adjacent to that very New York way of speaking in your voice, but it's different. It's... you don't know how to explain it. Fuck, that's right, you're drunk, drunk and giggling stupidly.

"That's a yes," Chris snorts, "you want anything else or can I go tend to my other patrons now, Ronnie?"

"You're dismissed," she smiles.

That's it. She's been sipping that damn Tom Collins this whole time. Meanwhile you've had... you don't know how many drinks. Too many, if you're drunk and she's sober. You should've gotten drunk alone, like you'd been planning before she stole your phone.

"Give me my phone," you try to say it like a command but you can't stop giggling.

Her head tilts, her smile looking a bit more genuine. "What's the magic word, Miss Blossom?"

Something about how she says that is too damn funny. You're hunched over laughing at her now. "Fuck you," you try, your hand landing somewhere on her knee.

Two hands lift you back up and readjust you on your bar stool. Veronica's hands, you think. Maybe. It's definitely her that speaks, "not even close. But do tell what's _so_ funny that you fell onto me laughing about it."

Forgetting how your mother would berate you for it, you snort. "You sound like such a... " what was the word? You settle on telling Veronica she sounds pretentious.

She blinks twice and then rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath. She says something you miss and then she's gone. Wanting to know where the hell she went, you twist around to ask Chris but he's gone too.

Someone plops down onto Veronica's seat with not nearly enough grace to be Veronica. Turning your head, you see you're right. It's one of those old men Veronica mentioned, who'll buy you drinks since his wife won't sleep with him anymore.

Drunk you lacks both the filter and the poise of sober you and so your nose scrunches in a way that you're pretty sure is both unattractive and rude.

He doesn't seem to notice or care. Instead, he asks what he can get you, his eyes decidedly on your legs. Not even your ankles are visible right now but you can't help but feel violated by his gaze. He must be thirty, at least. Maybe even older.

You don't think you could pass for any older than nineteen, except maybe twenty when you're all dressed up. But right now you're in fleece leggings and a mock turtleneck with a coat halfway on and you may be in a bar, but you do not look old enough to be here, let alone be with him.

His hand snakes its way to your thigh. You hear him call you sugar but you're too repulsed to listen to what else he's saying. Only _Josie_ gets to call you that.

"Out of my seat, Humbert Humbert," Veronica's stupid voice cuts through the air like ice, "she's with me." He mumbles something—you think he calls Veronica a bitch then something about jail bait—and then he's gone and Veronica is comfortably back in her seat. Before you can ask when she got back or where she even went, she's talking again, asking questions about Riverdale and your parents.

They're simple enough at first. What was Riverdale like (small and horrible and everybody loved Jason and loathed you), what extracurricular activities were you a part of (senior captain of the River Vixens, co-head of the yearbook committee, social activities director for student council), are your parents/family actually ginger supremacists (most definitely yes), etc.

And then she asks if Daddy really did kill JayJay.

"I'm not drunk enough to answer that," you murmur. You want to yell at her or hit her or do something cruel back but you can't. You're too inebriated and too numb to do anything but get up and _leave_. You stumble back to the Dakota as she calls after you, drunk and alone and more miserable than when you'd arrived at the scummy bar.

You almost get hit by five cabs but you can't make yourself care.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

"JoJo?" you sniffle into the Jason's old phone, the one you hadn't _let_ them deactivate.

"Hey, sugar, what's up?"

"I wanna go home."

Josie makes you drink three glasses of water, take your makeup off, eat some crackers, and settle into a bubble bath before you're allowed to fall asleep on her. You mumble your thanks and ask her to tell you everything you've missed. You pass out before she can finish.

You wake up with a good morning text and a reminder to eat breakfast. You almost resent that Josie knows you'd have skipped the meal if she hadn't told you not to as you shoot back a few kissy face emojis as thanks.

Your good mood is shot down when you leave to go find a bagel shop and run into Veronica Lodge.

Dressed to the nines as always, Veronica doesn't even look like last night happened. If not for the rose gold iPhone in her hand and your own memory, you wouldn't even know it had happened.

"You forgot your phone," she says simply, holding it out.

"Did you wait out for me to come out of my apartment?" It's an accusation more than anything else. The truce, that in hindsight was nothing but a ploy to get you drunk, ended the moment you left that bar, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a couple of nasty things to say to Veronica now.

Veronica is annoyingly unfazed by this. "I checked Aroma first, you weren't there so I figured you had a hangover and would want your phone. Veronica Lodge is many things, but a thief isn't among them."

You sneer a bit. "A lowlife seems to be one of them. Keep my family's name out of your mouth, Lodge." Snatching your phone back, you turn on your heel and head out of the lobby.

"There's a bakery on Colombus Avenue!" she calls after you.

You don't give her the satisfaction of looking back.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The rest of January goes like this:

You go to class, you hate the girls around you, you hate Veronica an extra 30%, Veronica blows you smug kisses when she sees you around campus, and you spend the car ride home on the phone with Josie, talking about _Archie Andrews_ wants the Pussycats' help with his music or how Val definitely _likes_ Archie Andrews for some ungodly reason Josie can't think of or how Josie's dad is stupid for not liking her band or anything but New York.

 **February**

On one of the worst Tuesdays of your life, after sleeping through your alarm and being awoken by your mother screaming at you and not having time to grab all your homework or do half your makeup routine and being smacked in the hall for trying to go back inside to get your favorite spider broach, the last thing you want is to talk to _Veronica_. Murphy's law, of course, decides that is exactly what should happen. And so Veronica walks into your third period like she owns the place.

She looks better than ever and certainly better than you do right now. She rubs it in, shooting you half a smirk before turning to your teacher. They talk for too long and she hands him a slip.

"Miss Blossom," he says, "go with Miss Lodge."

A few girls ooh at that. Naomi, one of the girls you tolerate, asks what you did. You restrain yourself from flipping her off and instead hiss that you did _nothing_. Because you didn't. Not that you can remember at least.

Veronica yawns. "Any day now, Cheryl."

You march out of the classroom, barely waiting for her to catch up.

"Brizendine wants to talk to you," she hums, "what'd you do?"

You glare sharply at her. " _Nothing_ , who even is that?"

Veronica snorts as un-lady-like as you had while drunk. The memory makes your hands curl into fists at your side. "Brizendine is the head of our school, dipshit. Otherwise known as a headmaster, chancellor, head teacher, principal, et cetera."

" _Fuck_ you, I know what it means. Why are you the one he sent for me? Don't you have class right now?" You're walking even faster now, your heels clicking angrily and echoing in the halls.

" _She_ sent me because I was in the office anyway. Some bitch ratted me out for making her drink from the gutter," she shrugs the last part off, like making someone drink gutter water is somehow acceptable or no big deal.

"That's barbaric," you snip.

She shoves her shoulder into your side. "It was sophomore year and it was Katie's idea anyway. Not like you're any better, I've seen the things your classmates at Riverdale High had to say about you."

You stop walking. "Like what?"

Veronica stops too, pulling out her phone and opening up to her Twitter. "Shall I read the DMs? Let's see, an unfortunately named Jughead Jones called you the biggest bitch he's ever met, a Betty Cooper said you told her she looked 'too season five Betty Draper' to be a River Vixen, whatever that is, because she still had baby fat her freshman year, Kevin Keller called you the significantly less tan and more ginger season one flashback only Alison DiLaurentis, some guy named Chuck Clayton said you were, and I quote 'a high maintenance, bitchy whore not worth the $4 milkshake he bought you,' need I continue?"

You almost cringe at Chuck's. You'd been repressing the memory of your date with him junior year (repressing how kind he was, his charm and wit and how he'd always been your favorite of Jason's teammates and he had barely even tried to kiss you like he _knew_ ) ever since Betty made you read that stupid fucking playbook the football team kept.

"So, you did your research."

She laughs in a pinched way. "Why else would I have waited to talk to you? Did you think I was intimidated by your faux bravado and red hair?"

The rest of the walk to the main office is silent, aside from the clicking of your heels. Brizendine, Bodie, she insists you call her, just wants to know why you haven't joined any clubs. You leave her office with the dates the Jewish culture club meets crumpled in your bag and the way Veronica had looked at you stuck in your head, your face burning up.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

"What's up, girl?"

"I joined the Jewish culture club."

"Should I have said shalom then?"

"Fuck you, Bodie made me. Mommy is going to kill me when she finds out."

"Let's kill her first." Josie is only half joking. You're joking even less when you hum in agreement.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

One Tuesday later, Valentine's day, you go to school draped in Jason's varsity letterman. It looks like the width of his shoulders as he held you to his chest and it feels like the warmth of his hands as he held yours and it smells ever so faintly like his cologne and like maple syrup. It's sickening to look at in the mirror but it feels more like home than the Dakota or Thornhill ever could. It's Jason, or all that you have left of him, and Jason was everything good in the world.

You snarl when one of the girls you tolerate asks you what you're wearing.

The rest of your day passes without incident. You don't even see Veronica until school is out. Her tongue is in some—some _boy's_ mouth, her thumb tracing down the edge of his jawline and one hand tangled in his hair. You can practically see her moaning like he's doing anything for her even though you're sure she's doing all the work and she could do so much fucking better than him if she wanted.

Veronica looks like artwork.

She's got eyes like the galaxy and hair like the ashes a phoenix rises up out of and this stupid confidence to everything she does that makes her look that much better. She speaks in the most pretentious, beautiful prose you've ever heard even when the things she says are beyond scathing and she walks like you imagine Aphrodite must have, even when she knows she's almost a hobbit. She's so much _more_ than the ugly boy with too pale hair and greedy hands on her hips could ever deserve.

Your train of thought finishes and it feels like something in your gut churns and then sinks. This was supposed to be gone. Josie thought it was the real deal, but you were sure you were over this. You'd gone all summer without feeling it once, you hadn't even felt a twinge when Veronica had been pressing into your back outside the Dakota, her breath hot on your neck. All you'd felt towards Veronica was hatred, even when she'd left you breathless.

But here you are, staring as Veronica makes some greasy boy you don't know's damn day, hating that you're not him. Hating Veronica and hating that you can't have her.

It's another reminder of your worst _flaw_. Your eyes burn at the memories. You'd wanted Josie like this at first too, you'd lashed out at Jason's meathead friends for looking at her too long and threatened Reggie Mantle when you heard him talking about her like she was an _object_.

And then... you'd felt like this about Polly too. With Polly, you tried to ignore it. You tried to befriend her for awhile, you even let her be a Vixen. You thought that if you could just be her friend, your stomach would stop curling and uncurling around her. And then she'd started dating JayJay. You stopped being nice to her. You called her a slut, you barely let her keep her spot on your River Vixens, you hissed to Jason how he should dump her for being a _Cooper_ if nothing else.

You don't want that again. You can't have those _feelings_ inside of you again. Veronica Lodge is stupidly beautiful but she is _nothing_ like Josie or Polly. What you feel for her is nothing. You don't even want to be nice to her. You want to rip Veronica Lodge apart, piece by stunning piece. You want to smear your lipstick across her jaw violently, and to tell her she is _just_ like you, if not _worse_ than you.

(More than anything, you want her to destroy you.)

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

"Veronica didn't even look at me today."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Maybe... you remember... that... _thing_ , the one I talked to you about? It's back."

"That's kind of how feelings work, sugar."

A sharp inhale.

"... who is it?"

"Aforementioned socialite."

"Well, damn, Cheryl."

You try to laugh. It comes out closer to a sob as you lose your composure.

"It's okay, sugar, I promise. Shit, you know I'm the same way too. You're not alone, okay? I know Jason's gone, but as long as you've got me, you're not alone. Deep breaths, Cheryl, deep breaths." She spends five minutes talking you through your panic attack. You wish you deserved any of this.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

At eleven PM, you slip out of the Dakota. Your mind is fast at work, trying to recall where the bar Veronica took you to is and praying that your mother won't find out that you're not in bed. You don't make it out of the lobby before Veronica stumbles in, guided by the blonde girl you saw her with your first day at Spence.

The blonde girl, Kendall, you think her name is, sees you.

Like a dear caught in headlights, you freeze. You brace yourself, waiting for Kendall to sneer or point you out for Veronica to rip you apart. It never happens.

Kendall half carries Veronica right past you and into the elevator silently. The next day, Veronica doesn't say anything to you. And then again. And again. And again. And then February is over.

 **March**

The snow hasn't even begun to melt when March begins.

Josie calls you whiny when you tell her and sends a snap of how freezing Riverdale still is. You miss it a little less than you did two months ago.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Another week passes without Veronica talking to you. It's pissing you off now, so, like the Blossom you are (no matter the state of your family, no matter how loudly your mother screamed at you last night, no matter what anybody in New York says), you attack her during lunch.

"Veronica," you greet, teeth barred in a fake smile, "you've been avoiding me. Were the things my former classmates had to say about me really that bad or are Lodges just more cowardly than they like to pretend?"

Her eyes take you in almost greedily. If you weren't so mad at her, you would thrive under the attention.

Today, you roll your eyes at her silence. "Well? I'm waiting."

"I guess you're just... not on my radar anymore," she shrugs. You know she's lying but it still stings.

"Let me clarify: I was on it enough for you to get me drunk and interrogate me and, when that backfired, for you to stalk people from my hometown to interrogate _them_ and since Valentine's Day, I've just magically dropped off of it? No big finish? No spark? No _fire_? That's more disappointing than losing your virginity in eighth grade," you scoff.

Veronica's teeth clench at that. "Fire? Sorry to disappoint you, Cheryl, but my specialty is _ice_. If you _fuck_ with me, you're going to do worse than drink gutter water.

"You see, you don't seem to quite get this, but you are _nothing_ here. The Blossoms may have been hot shit in Riverdale, but then your _daddy_ decided to torture and kill your brother for not wanting in on the drug dealing business, and you're not in Riverdale anymore. This is New York, honey, and if you think anybody here actually cares about the great great granddaughter of the founder of some washed up little town, you're not only wrong, you're _stupid_.

"This is my territory, Cheryl, the Lodge name _means_ something here, the Lodge name means something _everywhere_. I _own_ you in New York, and if I decide to leave you freezing and begging for mercy, that's what's going to happen, because that entitlement that you wore in Riverdale, you've outgrown. Your kingdom is in ruins and I'm the queen now, _bitch_."

It's the most Veronica has said to you in weeks. You don't tell Josie.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

She haunts your dreams that night. She looks like ice as she drags her teeth past your collarbones but she lights the pit of your stomach ablaze. You wake up at one AM with curled toes and a damp aching between your legs that you've never quite felt. You don't shake the image of her from your head for _hours_.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

You don't go to school afterwards. The thought of seeing her makes you vomit so Mommy believes you when you tell her that you're sick with your forehead pressed to the cool toilet seat, the aftermath of vomiting the empty contents of your stomach still painfully fresh.

"Have one of your _friends_ ," she says it sharp like she knows you have none, "bring your homework. No child of mine is going to fail out of school."

You draw your gaze to your knees. They're pale and bony and ugly and they won't stop trembling. "Yes, Mommy," you breathe out, willing them to stop. They don't until her footsteps carry out of your room.

Half an hour later, you trudge outside through the still there snow and head for the drug store on 72nd. You wish it would just melt already instead of making you take these heavy, struggling steps.

You collapse while crossing the street and the last thing you hear before everything goes black is car horns screaming at you and—is somebody screaming your name?

You wake up in a warm room wearing clothes that aren't what you left in. The lighting is a low, orangey shade of yellow. This is not your apartment. Your mother has always hated too yellow lighting and how it reflects onto ghostly Blossom skin.

For a few minutes, you blink and try to figure out just where you are. The furniture arrangement is nicer than in your apartment, the layout similar enough that you think you're in the Dakota at least. Your concentration is broken by the sound of heels clicking against tile, and then heels muffled by carpeting.

"Oh, thank God, Cheryl, I was starting to think you were dead." _Veronica_. This is Veronica's apartment. "Here, I made you hot cocoa," she holds out a mug to you. You don't take it. "I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking. My name may be Veronica but this isn't _Heathers_ ," she speaks almost playfully, like she didn't rip you to shreds yesterday or haunt your dreams last night.

Wearily, you find your voice, "why are you doing this? Blossoms and Lodges are worse than cats and dogs."

Veronica laughs softly—beautifully. You hate it. "You passed out in the street, Cheryl. We don't have to like each other for me to do the right thing."

"So Veronica Lodge has a heart after all, who would've thought," you quip, hands wrapping around the mug.

She sits down next to you on her couch and takes to rubbing patterns into your back as you sip on the hot cocoa. Veronica's skin feels somehow softer than you'd expected, not as cold as her mouth had been outside of the Dakota. Her movements are controlled and graceful in a way that aches.

You recognize that this is a dangerous moment to let happen. Knowing your _flaw_ and who Veronica is, this should not be allowed to happen. You should get up and leave right now, before anything worse happens. Instead, you sigh into the warmth of Veronica's touch. Against everything you know, against reason, against promise, against peace, hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that is, you unravel under her fingertips in the way that only Jason ever knew.

(Like background noise, your mother's voice hisses to life in your head, _weakness will not permitted_. You don't heed her words.)

The silence stretches out between you two until your mug is empty.

"Can I have some more?" Your voice leaves your mouth a whisper.

She smiles too gently and gets up, mug in one hand and finger tips in the other. For the second time, you follower after her. This time, you do it without even a thought of how completely un-Blossom-like it is.

(You're sick. You weren't lying, you're actually sick and you have an excuse to be submissive and weak right now.)

She tears the packet of powder with her teeth so she won't have to shake your fingertips off of her palm. "Have you eaten? I'm no Gordon Ramsay, but I can at least heat up some leftovers, or order out if you really don't trust me." The smile on her mouth is still too gentle, too familiar, like the two of you are friends and you never provoked her into saying what she did.

You start to say that you did, and then your stomach rumbles. It's almost comical but you feel heat rush to your cheeks and your eyes go wide and child-like. You haven't been caught in a lie like this since you were six. Back then, you'd been berated almost violently for lying to your parents.

Veronica laughs at you instead. "We have some appetizers from Valbella and churrasco from Son Cubano," she hums, sticking the mug in the microwave with a cover. "I'm assuming you eat kosher since you're in the Jewish culture club with Kendall and... actually I don't know if any of that is kosher."

"I'm not—" you close your mouth sharply, "I don't eat kosher."

Her head tilts. "Aren't you _supposed_ to?"

"Maybe... I'm not even supposed to talk about it, just—I'll have the appetizers. I don't eat red meat," you mumble.

"Gringa," she laughs, "there's fried calamari with zucchini and neck clams, I'm guessing you want the calamari."

Nodding slightly, you purse your lips nervously. "I thought gringa meant foreigner... that's what Ginger said, at least."

She snorts. Pulling out a to-go container, she answers, "it's someone who isn't Latin. First gen Latinos always forget the rest of us are just as Latino as them, Chicana I may be, but _both_ my parents are Mexican and they raised me the same way. Just... in New York. And rich." There's a burning in her eyes that makes you wonder what it must be like to be proud of who you are.

You can't even begin to understand it, so you say nothing.

The microwave beeps, breaking the atmosphere. You can't place why you feel so cheated that it did, and then Veronica is sending you back to the couch with your hot coca and saying something about the zucchini.

You count the minutes as you wait for her, your fingers tapping anxiously against your mug in a way your mother would never approve of. After three, you take a sip. It doesn't burn your throat but you wish it would, or that Veronica would hurry up.

Like she knew what you were thinking, Veronica's heels click against the tile of the kitchen as she speaks, "it wouldn't heat evenly, sorry about that."

Your fingers brush against hers as you take the plate. Her skin is warmer than before, more electric. You inhale too sharply at the feeling of it and your stomach clenches tightly.

Veronica sees it. Her lips curl up just a little bit at the sight, like she planned it.

Your cheeks feel like they're burning, so you speak before she can. "Why aren't you in school?"

"Ditching, some friends and I were going to the movies," she shrugs.

You blink. "You're blowing them off for me."

Veronica tilts her head, the upward curl of her lips back. "Is that so?" she says it like a challenge, like a dare that you can't refuse. Somehow, even though you know she is because she's here, taking care of you, and not with them, the way she says it makes you feel stupid.

"Aren't you?"

"Maybe," she chuckles softly, "or maybe this is just like when I got you drunk. What was it you called me back then, a lowlife?"

If your face can get any redder, it does. You bow your head, hoping your hair will cover just how deep your blush is.

"Oh, don't cry on me, Cheryl, it was a bitchy thing to do, I'm—I'm sorry," she scoffs, "for that and the other day." Her voice catches on her apology, like she's not used to _actually_ doing that.

Reluctantly, it makes you believe her. "It's fine," you mumble, "I... I've been a bitch to you too. Because you're a Lodge. I'm... _sorry_ about that. I guess."

The two of you sit quietly for a minute longer. You poke at your calamari awkwardly, not sure what exactly is supposed to happen now. You've never done this before. Apologizing is _not_ something that Blossoms are supposed to do. (Your mother would be ashamed. Your father too. Would Jason?)

"You should eat," Veronica suggests, like she doesn't know where to go from here either.

You do eat. And then, just as Veronica goes to speak again, you vomit it all back up. You leave three minutes later, feeling more embarrassed than you can ever remember being. You text Josie immediately, _I apologized to somebody and then puked. Blossom genes?_

Josie texts back a half hour later, when you're comfortably in bed and just barely awake, _just cuz you don't like veronica doesn't mean you can puke on her cher_

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Two days later, the snow starts to melt.


	2. spring

**A/N:** this took way too long to write but in my defense, i stopped watching riverdale completely after jughead and tonis kiss got written off as nothing bc im a petty, bitter soul. i'm happy for choni tho! also nick shows up but he doesn't do anything until may and it's not graphic or anything plus it's over really fast

* * *

 **March**

Against Josie's advice and to her increasing frustration, you avoid Veronica Lodge like she has the bubonic plague for a solid week after your regurgitation episode in her apartment. You're half sure she's avoiding you too, in all honesty.

And then Nick St. Clair, all pearly teeth and green eyes, is standing there on Spence's steps. You know him, not personally, but, like Veronica, from your parents first and the news second. The St. Clairs are filthy stinking rich, even by your standards and Nick is the kind of boy your mother might actually be (semi) proud of you for dating.

"Cheryl Blossom," he says your name like it's some sort of inside joke you wouldn't get, "just the girl I'm looking for."

Crossing your arms over your chest indignantly, you raise a brow, "Nick St. Clair, why, pray tell, would you be looking for me?"

He chuckles at that. "You're a beautiful girl, I'm a handsome guy..."

"Who could have come looking for me two months ago. Cut to it, St. Clair, I have places to be," you snip, breezing past him to the car your mother's been sending.

"I heard you go straight home after school to maintain that cute little 4.3 GPA of yours for Brown," he counters, following after you.

You stiffen at that. A St. Clair knows your daily routine. Somebody told a St. Clair your daily routine _without_ telling you about it. "Columbia," you correct, resisting the urge to fidget with the hem of your skirt, "and that's still a place that I have to be. Mommy gets upset if I don't get home in a timely manner."

He laughs off the notion of your mother worrying about you like he knows more than just your routine. Then he walks to your family car to tell your driver that his services won't be needed. "A family friend asked me to take care of Miss Blossom today," he lies, patting your driver on the shoulder, "I'll bring her home safe and sound."

Judging by how fast he drives off, your mother isn't paying him nearly enough to care about you.

"Family friend being?" you ask, arms crossed once more.

Nick's smile widens at that. "Ronnie, she's told me a lot about you, Cher." He has the audacity to not even beckon for you follow him before making his way down the pavement.

As un-Blossom-like as possible, a worrying but not new development, you follow anyways, interest piqued.

"Ronnie? As in _Veronica_? Lodge?" you demand, hands curled into fists and manicured nails cutting into your palms.

"Obviously," Nick shrugs, slowing down a bit for you, "you two are friends, or becoming friends. That's what she said, at least. I barely believed her after what she pulled at the bar but Ronnie has always been... charming."

Your rigid act gets an encore.

 _Veronica_ has been talking to Nick St. Clair about you, and yet he's being nice to you. The two of you might've kissed and made up (your stomach clenches at the thought) but after two weeks without speaking, your two month feud, and with your family history, you can't buy that Nick wouldn't have heard all sorts of awful lies (and truths) about you.

"If we're friends now then why didn't Veronica come get me herself?"

Nick flashes his teeth again, chuckling, "she has cheerleading practice. You didn't know? Wow. Ronnie really is bad with girls." Combing back his hair with his fingers, Nick comes to a stop, "this is my car."

"You drive?" tumbles out of your mouth, the ever touchy subject of Veronica forgotten for a moment.

"For pretty girls," he dismisses, "and when Ronnie begs me to be nice to her girlfriends."

Girlfriends.

You know what he means (or maybe you just hope you do) but the word makes your stomach clench again, this time even harsher, like it's grown teeth too. You get into the back seat out of habit (and because you only sat shotgun for Jason, it's too soon and Nick's hair is too dark), ignore the way he laughs at that, and don't entertain his attempts at conversation the whole car ride.

When Nick parks the car and leads you into his penthouse, you think your stomach stops clenching just so it can drop. 1040 Fifth Avenue is, if possible, even nicer than the Dakota. All the _Gossip_ _Girl_ jokes in the world couldn't have prepared you for this, to actually feel... poor.

Or, at least, middle class in comparison to the St. Clair's.

Nick tells you to make yourself at home and asks if you want anything to eat. He says that Veronica told him she's never seen you eat more than an apple during your lunch break.

That catches you off guard.

"I didn't realize Veronica spent her time playing _Fatal Atttaction_ ," you play it cool.

The left corner of Nick's mouth quirks upward. "Implying you've slept with her," he quips.

"Hilarious," you deadpan, "I like boys, Nick. I can't speak for Blair Waldorf though."

He laughs, then drops it.

You spend the next sixty-eight minutes on Nick St. Clair's couch. Forty of them are spent trying to get through your calculus homework and twenty-eight of them doing something adjacent to flirting with Nick St. Clair. You're then interrupted by him buzzing Veronica up and telling you he'll be right back.

When Veronica walks into the room, she smiles at you like you haven't spent two weeks mutually ignoring each other and suddenly the penthouse has a lot less oxygen. You almost can't remember why you spent a half hour making eyes at Nick.

Almost.

"Ronnie," you smile back. You can't tell if how hard you find breathing right now is apparent but you hope it isn't.

Nick is back with a Ziploc bag of weed in hand before you can find out. You hadn't pegged either of them as the 4:20 type but you bite your tongue as Veronica rolls you a blunt.

It's the first time you've ever smoked anything.

Nick laughs when you blow instead of inhaling.

Veronica corrects you.

It's not quite gentle but it's tamer than you think she would have a month ago. Calmer. It's not the first time you've felt safer than you should ever feel with someone like Veronica Lodge. Through the haze of laughter and Veronica blowing puffs of smoke at you with her nails scraping your knees while Nick goes on about his ideal threesome, you find yourself realizing it won't be the last. You don't think weed is a strong enough drug for you to blame it for that realization but that doesn't stop you from trying.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

"I smoked weed with Nick St. Clair today."

"Hold up, Cher, since when do you know Nick St. Clair?"

"Since today. Veronica asked him to pick me up from school while she was at cheer practice."

Josie is quiet for a moment. You can't see her but you know she's chewing the inside of her cheek. "You guys are finally talking?"

"... I'm not sure. I have no idea how to read her."

Another beat. "Do you still have those feelings?"

You inhale sharply, the muscles in your stomach flexing tensely.

"That a yes, sugar?"

"Did Reggie ever ask Melody out?"

Josie sighs like she should have known you'd do this. You guess that with your track record maybe she should have.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Veronica and her blonde friend, Kendall, sit with you at lunch on Monday. A third of both of their lunches are sat out in front of you expectantly, like this is normal. Like Naomi isn't borderline having a stroke and the entirety of Spence doesn't remember Veronica verbally destroying you barely a month ago.

You find yourself eating half of what they give you and pretending your cold war hadn't happened anyways.

Eating what Veronica gives you, going over to Nick's with her, and forcing yourself to smile at Kendall during Jewish culture club meetings becomes... not quite normal but less of a spectacle the more you do it.

People whisper about what must have happened to make the earth shift so violently. You hear about how the Lodges must have something even worse than filicide on your family or how Veronica has just finally grown a heart and is taking pity on you now or how you're only sucking up to her to get to Nick. You don't know which version is worse but you also don't really know which is true. Josie tells you to just stop listening to them talk altogether. This time, you take her advice.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

On the last Saturday of March, Veronica takes your hand and tells you she's taking you somewhere for what she calls C and V time. Reflexively, you remember the last time she'd held your hand and the questions she'd asked. Like she knows just what you're thinking, Veronica gives your hand a squeeze. "No alcohol this time, no fake truces, no tricks at all, Cheryl. I promise," she says, her eyes somber.

You let her lead you to the subway with minimal protesting.

Her grip on your hand tightens on the A train at first, like she thinks someone might rip you away from her. (You've never taken the subway before so you can't be sure they wouldn't, you tell yourself that's why you don't say anything but you know that's a lie.) Veronica's hand in yours feels like an anchor keeping you from drifting off into the night. It feels foreign and familiar all at once. Comfort and safety aren't things you've known much of but you can't help but long for them now you've got a taste.

"Where are we going?" You ask over the slew of noise.

Veronica grins at you. It's a dizzying sight. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you."

Letting out a huff, you tug your hand out of yours.

"You're no fun," she pretends to pout, "we're going to a drive in movie theater. You mentioned there was one in Riverdale, I figured it would be like home sweet home."

Your shoulders tense. You'd known Veronica paid enough attention to you to notice you weren't eating at lunch. It isn't really a stretch to think she would remember the things you say. It's still weird to think she actually listens to you. It's even weirder to think that Veronica would go out of her way to do something so... nice. For _you_.

"Jason adored the movies," you say, eyes distant. It's not what you want to say here but you don't know what else there is you could say.

Veronica's hand finds yours again. She says something you don't catch over the sound of the PA system. Your brows furrow in confusion and she tries again, louder, "I said you can talk about him."

You haven't even talked about what happened with Josie. Part of you wants to believe that if you don't talk about it - about Jason, it won't be real. It's stupid and childish and you know you'll have to talk about him eventually, but not yet. Not now.

"If it's a drive in theater, why are we taking the subway?" You ask instead.

Veronica doesn't let go of your hand but she doesn't press for more. "I can't drive, so I called in a favor but they could only leave the car for us in Middletown. They left it by a malt shop. I figured we could split one before the movie," she explains.

Splitting something sweet and going to the movies; Josie would say it sounds like a date, but you're working on Nick (if him and Veronica ever stop flirting all the damn time, at least) and Veronica is definitely not trying to date you. She told you that already. You know better than to hope or even think about it as a possibility. Even if it was, what would people say? What would your _mother_ say? Nana Rose? The tabloids? It's 2018, sure, but you're not some sexually neutered, goyishe twink. You don't even know _what_ you are, if you just like girls or if you like boys too or even if this is a permenant thing.

The rest of the subway ride goes by slowly and with you only half listening to Veronica.

When you get off the subway, you catch some twelve year old just _staring_ at you. At your hands. You let go of Veronica's hand like she shocked you before you can even think it through.

This time, she doesn't reach for it again. Instead she pulls her phone out of her shirt - unless there's some pocket you didn't see, Veronica was keeping it in her bra which is something you don't feel safe dwelling on. "Come on, they left it outside Blueberry Mountain," she says coolly.

You walk as far apart as New York sidewalks jam packed with people will allow for nine minutes. Veronica probably knows that something is up by now. You're terrified she knows what's wrong with you but the way that kid had looked at where your hands were intertwined felt worse than anything Veronica could say.

"We're here, C."

Blueberry Mountain Ice Cream is almost jarringly quaint. It looks like it might have somehow fallen out of Riverdale. You half expect to find Betty Cooper in a booth with Archie Andrews inside.

"It looks like Pop's," you murmur.

"I have no idea what that is but I bet it's not even half as good as Blueberry Mountain. And that it doesn't offer mini golf," she counters, "so, are we still splitting or do you want your own?"

You're pretty sure your stomach has shrunk or something because a few months ago you would have wanted your own. Now the thought makes you feel queasy. "Splitting," you say.

Veronica holds the door open before ordering - and paying for, she insists - one scoop of malted milk ice cream. It's probably the best ice cream you've ever had but Veronica makes a face after a few bites. Then she says, quiet but not apologetic, "it's not as good as I remember. They must have changed the recipe." She almost entirely stops eating the ice cream but is glad to eat the cone. It's the least poised you've ever seen her, ice cream dripping down her chin and her nose scrunched up in a childlike smile as she bites into the cone.

The sight makes your heart feel grossly heavy in your chest.

"You've got a little..." Not thinking past the soft, mushy feelings inside you, you reach over to wipe it off of her. Your hand lingers longer than it needs to and you can see something in Veronica's gaze shift. "I thought you said it wasn't good," you breathe out. Whatever's shifted into place doesn't leave but it does get less intense.

She chuckles softly. "Yeah, well..." Her sentence trails off with a shrug. Then she's picking up her phone and putting it back into her shirt - her _bra_. "We should, um, we should go. It's like a half hour drive and the movie starts in forty minutes."

The car Veronica had arranged turns out to be a convertible. A red convertible.

You can't help but stare at it for a minute before getting in. It's a different build entirely but sitting in it feels like driving Jason to Sweetwater River with BORNS playing too loud all over again.

"Hey," Veronica's hand is warm on your shoulder, "are you okay?"

"Peachy. This just looks like JayJay's car," you smile. You start the car before Veronica can say anything else. "Radio?"

"I was thinking aux. Hearing about how half of Camila Cabello's autotuned, goat screeching heart is in Havana is getting old," she says.

You laugh as genuinely as you can right now. "Be my guest."

Veronica plugs her phone in, scrolls for a moment, and puts on Love Lies. She doesnt waste any time before starting to sing along. Her voice comes out higher than you would have expected. It's the softest you've ever heard her so you don't interrupt.

You do hum the chorus though.

Veronica lights up like a Christmas tree. "Oh! Have you heard Normani's cover of Fake Love? It's actually a mashup with Sneakin, it's amazing!"

"My best friend, Josie, wouldn't stop playing it for a week after she posted it," you say, smiling at the memory.

"Okay, in that case I'll give your ears a break and put on Becky G instead," she laughs. "Now, tell me about Josie. I need to know what standards I'm going to be living up to."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The movie you don't even give Veronica a chance to pay for ("you bought the ice cream, let me buy our tickets, V") is _Love, Simon_. The same movie Mommy spent three days yelling at you because of. The same queer fest you saw Kevin fairy lights Kellar going on and on and _on_ about all over your Twitter feed. Why the hell would Veronica think you'd want to watch this? Do you smell like a Home Depot? Did you give yourself away while you were smoking with her?

You don't realize you're holding your breath until you get light headed. You exhale too sharply and Veronica asks if you're alright.

"Fine, just cold," you lie.

"Here, take my coat," she offers.

Her coat smells like hot chocolate and laundry detergent. It's never occurred to you before that that's what Veronica smells like. But that's good, you shouldn't be thinking about that kind of thing. Veronica would be creeped out if you were. She'd probably never talk to you again.

Your nails dig into your palms when Martin shows Simon the pictures.

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Veronica's jaw clench.

You think you're going to cry when Simon tells his parents and the feeling of blankets being ripped off of you and the sound of your parents screaming louder than you knew they could hits you all over again. You flinch.

Veronica is too busy tearing up to notice.

When Simon's mom tells him he gets to exhale now, you do cry. It's silent but it ripples through you, your whole chest shaking with the way you're breathing; sharp and short and painful. Then there's a hand curled around yours.

Puffy eyed from crying, Veronica doesn't ask any questions. From the pit of your stomach you find yourself hoping beyond hope that maybe, just maybe, it's because she understands.

She cheers so loud when Simon and Bram kiss that you can't help but think she _does_.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

She asks you to stay the night and rolls her eyes at how her parents don't even pretend to like you.

You share a bed and try to fall asleep without clinging to her.

 **April**

In the morning, there's an arm wrapped shamelessly around your waist and Veronica's head is buried in the crook of your neck. You hold your breath, stomach muscles clenched tightly, until she wakes up. The smell of her morning breath should kill the butterflies in your stomach but the way she smiles at you and mutters a good morning weighs your heart down instead.

You text Josie about it as soon as you leave.

 _i'm really proud of u sugar_

 _i'm glad you're talking abt this instead of acting like it didn't happen_

 _i know it's scary, believe me girl i do, but you're making progress and i think seeing love simon was good for you. you deserve to know that people like us can have happy endings too_

You leave her on read.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Mommy is furious when you get back with Veronica's coat still enveloping you.

It happens like this:

You slip into the kitchen to make Nana Rose her morning coffee. You're pouring the cup and starting to think nobody even noticed you left to begin with. Last night was almost suffocating but the memories of Veronica with ice cream down her chin and playing all her favorite songs as loud as she can are still fresh and unruined.

Like she senses your hints of happiness, Mommy storms in so suddenly you flinch and spill still steaming hot coffee on your hand. She doesn't even give you a moment to hiss in pain before she starts in.

"Where were you last night, you ingrate?" Her nails dig into your arm to make up for the fact that she can't quite scream at you with Nana Rose in the living room. "Whose coat is that? Cheryl, I swear to _God_ if you were sleeping with some girl again -"

You don't let her finish her threat. "Mommy, please, I was just staying with a friend. We went to the movies and it was too late to walk back when it ended. Nothing happened," you plead, biting back a whimper.

She grounds you for the rest of your spring break. You try not to cry too hard. The pleading had been un-Blossom-like enough.

Nick St. Clair shows up at the Dakota four days later. He tells Mommy he's looking for you and just like that, you're ungrounded. He waits until you're in the lobby to actually talk to you. "Ronnie was getting worried," he tells you, "said she hadn't seen you since you slept over and you weren't answering your phone. She went through half a bag of weed to try and calm down, it was cute, actually."

You try to be less happy that he's here because Veronica was worried about you.

"Mommy grounded me, I'm fine."

He smiles, his hand ghosting over your hip. "I'm glad," he says, lingering in your personal space a moment too long. "I'll text her, she'll want to check that you're actually alright."

Veronica hugs you the second she sees you. It's the first time someone has hugged you since you left Riverdale. The last person to hug you had been Josie, warm and gentle after your breakdown at the first pep rally of the school year. Veronica's hugs are different. They aren't warmer or softer or anything but when Veronica wraps her arms around you, she has to go on her toes to rest her chin on your shoulder. She's small but somehow she encompasses you completely, like she's always been there.

It's over before you can commit the feeling to memory.

"Jesus, I thought your mom killed you for staying over," she says, eyes still wide, "my mom whipped out the chancla all pao pao after you left and - I got worried about your mom might have done."

Your brows furrow, "worried about me? Veronica, your mom _threw her shoe at you_ , are you okay?"

"No, no, my mom never actually hits me. She only brings the chancla out to scare me," she says, waving your concern off.

Nick cuts in before you can say anything else, "now that we've established everyone is fine and no one's mother hit them, we should celebrate."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Celebrating (and recreational drug use) turns into roller skating for the first time in your life. Roller skating for the first time in your life turns into crashing hopelessly into Nick. Crashing hopelessly into Nick turns into Veronica holding your hands and skating backwards to teach you.

Nick's got his hands on your waist to keep you from falling over but you barely even notice him.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Three things happen on the last day of spring break.

One: you come home to five college acceptance letters. Princeton, USC, NYU, Brown, and Columbia. You didn't get into Yale but five out of six should please Mommy. Columbia was the only one you really wanted anyways.

Two: you finally text Josie back. All you say is _Thank you, I love you_.

Three: six minutes later, Josie calls you.

"I met somebody."

"... Is she cute?"

Josie laughs breathlessly, like when the tilt-a-whirl slows down and the pressure to your chest lifts. "The cutest."

"The pussycats must be jealous. Does she have a name?"

"... Toni. She's bi and funny and kind of dorky but on her it's cute and she... she's from the south side."

"Oh?"

"She's a serpent."

"Holy shit, Josie."

"My mom -"

Your mouth works faster than your brain, "fuck your mom. If you like Toni you should go for it."

"... what about my dad?"

"If he doesn't want to see how amazing and smart and talented you are, then that's his loss, JoJo. You... you shouldn't make yourself miserable to try and get the approval of someone stupid enough to not recognize that you're Josie freaking McCoy and you're one in a billion."

Josie cries and you wish you were there to hug her.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

At the end of your first day back from break, Veronica grabs your hand and tugs you along to her cheer practice.

"I have to tell the chauffeur where I'm going," you say, following after her anyways. You're starting to not mind this; not fighting so hard around her. She makes it almost peaceful to exist. Warmer, too.

"And yet you come with anyways," she hums teasingly, "if I didn't know any better, Bombshell, I'd say you were going soft."

If anyone else but her or Josie said that, you would tear into them as harshly as you could. But Veronica isn't just anyone and there's no malice to her words anymore.

People haven't had the audacity to stare at the two of you together since you threatened two girls in your dance class for whispering about this but you can feel them stealing glances. This isn't theirs to see. They don't get to know this part of you, so you wait until you round a corner to say anything. "I thought you liked me better like this," you shoot back finally, "if I remember correctly, you actually came begging me to be play nice."

You can't see anything more than the back of her head but you know from the way she scoffs at that that she's smiling. You like this. No, you adore this - knowing you can make Veronica Lodge smile.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

It doesn't even occur to you to look at anyone but her during cheer practice. You wouldn't want to even if it did. You don't know the girls on the cheer squad but you do know that none of them could even hold a candle to Veronica. Nobody could.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

When practice ends, you wait for Veronica on the steps of Spence. The family car is gone, probably having given up at least a half hour ago. You don't mind. The thought of walking home with Veronica is somehow both soothing and anxiety inducing.

You haven't been able to deny it for awhile now but it's strange. You've had crushes on girls before but this is the first time you've ever admitted it to yourself. Even knowing all Veronica can ever do is break your heart, it's a relief. It's like for the first time since Jason died, you can breathe again. You think that maybe this is the first time since you were thirteen and Mommy and Daddy stopped even pretending to love you that you've been yourself.

"Hey, C," Veronica links her arm with yours, "ready?"

"As I'll ever be," you smile brightly.

You talk about school and cheer and how Kendall has summarized every Jewish holiday as "they tried to kill us but we lived, bitch!" for longer than you think anyone should be able to talk about any of those things. Then, Veronica is tugging you in the direction of a soft pretzel vendor and buying one for you to split with her. You try to protest because you've already eaten but the vendor tells you how you lucky you are that your girlfriend cares enough to buy you food like this.

Veronica doesn't correct him.

You're too scared to ask why.

Ten minutes later, you're outside the Dakota and it's much too late to bring it up. Instead, you forget about your lipstick and chew your lip for a second. A deep breath, and then, "I got into Columbia."

A beat. Veronica smiles and her nose crinkles up cutely. "Oh, my god, Cheryl, congratulations!" she pulls you into a hug you can't help but feel guilty for allowing. "That's amazing. _You're_ amazing," she tells you, "we should celebrate."

"Maybe. Mommy wasn't impressed," you note. She'd barely reacted when you told her the news but Nana Rose had smiled at you like she was really there again. It had gone better than you'd thought it might. No one had even mentioned that _Jason_ would have gotten into Yale.

"Your mom is a moron," Veronica dismisses, "come have dinner with my family tonight. Daddy is on a business trip so no one will glare at you for being a ginger this time."

It's a stupid idea but Veronica proposed it so you agree anyways.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Hermione Lodge is nicer than you remember her. You don't know if maybe Veronica has talked to her since your sleepover or if her contempt of you had been under her husband's influence but you do know better than to question it. You've already ruined far too many nice things by questioning them. This time, you smile politely and say please and thank you to everything.

"Normally we say grace but Ronnie tells me you're Jewish so I don't want to make you do anything to make you uncomfortable," she says from the head of the table.

Reflexively, you flinch. Mommy had been upset enough that you'd joined Jewish Culture Club. You can't even imagine what she would say if she found out Hermione Lodge knows.

"That's fine, Mrs. Lodge, I don't really... observe the religion," you say.

Once grace is said, your plate ends up with a third of the food on it that Veronica and her mother's have. Veronica gives Mrs. Lodge a look like she knows (you know she does, there's no other reason for her to give you food all the time) and is begging her mother to do something about it. You try to pretend not to have seen it.

"Cheryl, are you sure you don't want more to eat?" Mrs. Lodge asks, genuine concern in her voice.

You flash a quick smile. "I'm fine, Mrs. Lodge. Ronnie and I split a pretzel before we got here." Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Veronica's face fall at that. Your stomach clenches. You hate the thought of upsetting her but you don't think you could eat more than this if you tried to.

"If you change your mind there's always more," she tells you.

"Thank you."

From under the table, Veronica nudges your foot. You inhale sharply. She stares at you quietly for a second. The fear that maybe she knows sinks in for the first time.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Dinner at Veronica's happens again when Hiram Lodge is still out on business the day after. And then again next week. And then Mrs. Lodge asks you to call her Hermione.

Kendall laughs during Jewish Culture Club and tells you you better not steal her seat at the Lodge dining table. You make no promises.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Spence apparently hosts a joint prom with some of the other private schools at the end of April.

You're sure prom on the Upper East Side will blow away your junior prom in Riverdale. You also know that it won't even come close to touching the music at your junior prom. Josie and the Pussycats had covered Beyoncé and done a Destiny's Child medley. It had been life changing. You'd had such a good time you hadn't even made fun of _anyone_ with Tina and Ginger. Not even of Tina and Ginger.

Kendall scoffs in disbelief when you tell her and Veronica this at lunch.

"I don't know, K," Veronica hums, "from everything Cher's told me about Josie, I kind of believe her."

"Of course you do," Kendall rolls her eyes.

Veronica tenses for just a moment. "Are you going?" she asks you, her hair whipping around with the turn of her head. She looks at you through her eyelashes, her eyes sparkling with hues of red you've never caught before.

You will your throat not to close up and say, "of course. I was thinking we make a date out of it? The two of you, me, and Nick, I mean. Unless there's a junior prom no one told me about that you would rather go to."

"Nicky would love that," Veronica says. Kendall gives her a look you can't place. " _I_ would love that," she corrects, "Kenny too. Right?"

Kendall says right and offers you her fries. You take them.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Somehow (you suspect Veronica texted him and your heart sinks), Nick winds up crashing dress shopping after school. He sits while you change and laughs when Kendall comes out in ugly, old maid dresses like this is a montage out of a rom-com or something. Worse, he openly stares at Veronica the way you wish you could when she comes out in a shimmering dress with a sweetheart neckline.

"That's the one," you murmur quietly, "it goes with your pearls."

Veronica gives a twirl at that. "You think?" she bats her eyes sweetly.

"Definitely," Nick says breathlessly, "you look... amazing." He won't stop staring at Veronica and Veronica won't stop staring back and you can feel the jealous monster in the pit of your stomach stirring again. It's been months but the last time you'd felt like this had ruined everything with Polly. You couldn't even be her friend once she'd started going out with JayJay.

"You should wear it with fur," Kendall cuts in, like she senses what's going to happen if she doesn't. She looks around the boutique for a second and then pulls something red off the return section. "Cher," she says, "try this. It's your color."

You take it from her in silence and slip behind the changing curtain. The dress is a halter neckline with a hi-low cut. It fits loose around your waist even though it's a size four. Your clothes had been getting a bit looser on you since you moved in December but you hadn't realized you might have actually gone down a size. Curious, you run your hand over your stomach. Any definition from abs you had is gone.

Maybe Veronica was right to be worried at all those dinners.

Shaking that thought off, you slip out from behind the curtain trying to fill the dress up as much as you can.

Veronica frowns right away, her eyes going to the places where the dress falls too loose on you. "Wrong size?" she asks, reaching out to press the loose fabric against your waist. She doesn't retract her hand when you flinch under her touch.

You try not to grimace when you answer her, "yes."

Judging by the way Kendall looks at you, you don't succeed.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The week flies by. You get high on Wednesday and Friday with Nick and Veronica, Kendall helps you find a dress in the right size while pretending not to know why your ribs are jutting out, Hermione asks how you are in the lobby right in front of your mother as if to spite her, and Nick doesn't have to rent a limo for prom since he owns one. And then it's Saturday night and you're putting on a rhinestone choker and diamond studs to complete your look. You'd been on FaceTime with Josie for a half hour debating over what accessories to wear with your dress. It would have gone faster if she hadn't kept getting texts from Toni but with the way she kept lighting up at every text, you can't bring yourself to complain about not having her full attention. Even if you had, you know she would have just teased you about Veronica.

Veronica is waiting for you in the lobby once you get past Mommy, who's been irritated by you since Thursday when what she's dubbed 'The Snake Encounter' happened. Veronica manages to look even more beautiful than usual (which is definitely saying something). You kind of forget how to breathe when you see her.

Then she smiles brightly and takes your hands excitedly. "You look... wow."

"You don't look half bad yourself, Lodge," you breathe out. It doesn't sound nearly as calm as you wanted it to but Veronica laughs anyways.

"Thanks, Bombshell," she says before guiding you out and into the waiting limo.

Nick and Kendall are both already seated and sipping champagne like this isn't a high school prom and Nick doesn't have a flask in his jacket pocket to spike the punch with. He grins when Veronica sits opposite from him and pulls out a plastic bag. "Guess what I got?" It's kind of dark in here but whatever's in that bag is definitely not green.

"Coke?" Kendall laughs.

You snort, hoping to God it isn't. "I thought the Upper East Side was less _Gossip Girl_ esque than that."

"Better than coke," Nick says, opening up the bag.

"... pixie sticks? Are we twelve?" you frown.

From beside you, Veronica reaches over for one and says, "not pixie sticks, C. It's JJ."

You have no idea what that means but when Nick hands you some, you take it. By the time the limo gets to prom (fashionably late as you'd all agreed), you're buzzed at the very least. Veronica and Nick are both noticeably high. Somehow, your prom tickets are accepted anyways.

And then you're dancing with an overly touchy Veronica. Veronica who definitely won't remember this tomorrow because she's made her way through two entire sticks of it was Nick pulled out in the limo. Half the time she's got her hands on someone's hips (yours or Kendall's, Naomi's when she makes her way over to tell you you look great) and the other half they're in her hair. She twists her own hips to the beat of the song.

It's like the oxygen gets sucked out of the room. You hate this. You hate how you've liked Veronica for months now and she still takes your breath away. You hate how your feelings aren't fading. You hate how you know she'll get with Nick even if you tell her. You hate how you'll be ten minutes away for college and it won't make any difference. You hate how you've never been able to hate her. Not even in that seedy bar or when she makes you eat food you can't.

Nick breaks your train of thought, crashing his hips into yours.

"Dance with me," he says, tugging you away from Veronica and Kendall. You don't have much of a choice so you do. The song isn't slow but he still keeps a hand pinned to your waist. "Did Veronica ever tell you about Katie and Paige?" he asks. You don't answer because you're not sure. "I'll take your silence as a no. Katie was Ronnie's best friend before Kendall. Paige was a girl they'd been tormenting since the seventh grade. Katie and Ronnie were worse than Regina George. They were like Chris Hargensen on crack. They made Paige drink gutter water once, you know. It wasn't even the worst thing they did to her. They only stopped because her parents took her out of Spence and checked her into therapy."

You've stopped moving. You remember hearing about the gutter water incident months ago. You'd called it barbaric. The thought of Veronica doing worse than that... you don't know what to think. "Why are you telling me this?"

He stops too. Smiles, then says, "I thought you should know what kind of girl she is, since, well, you know."

You turn around, heat rising to your head. He _knows_. You find Veronica before he can tell her (if he hasn't already), you take the punch cup from out of her hands, and you ask her to dance with you.

Veronica smiles sappily, wasted, and asks if you weren't already dancing. She doesn't know. You're safe

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

After prom, you go to a diner. Veronica is finally coming down from her high after you convinced her she'd enough JJ. Kendall orders more pancakes than you think anyone should be able to eat. Veronica wolfs down five and splits a sixth one with you. Nick doesn't stop looking at the two of you the whole time.

He doesn't tell. He just asks Veronica how Katie is now.

"... I don't know, Nicky. I haven't talked to her since..." she looks down, syrup starting to drip down her chin.

Kendall reaches over to wipe it off to spare her saying anything else. "We should get milkshakes," she says. She flags down the waiter before anyone can protest. "Two chocolate shakes, a strawberry, and a vanilla, please," she flashes a quick smile, "you like strawberry right, Cheryl?"

You nod quietly. You used to share strawberry shakes with Jason at Pop's.

"Act'ch'ually," Veronica hiccups, "make that one chocolate shake. Kenny, you're sharing with me."

"That's adorable," Nick laughs, "you gonna kiss later?" He gets smacked by Kendall a second after he asks that. You're not sure if she knows too but you're thankful anyways.

 **May**

One week later, Josie shows up with Val and Melody in tow. They're playing a gig at some club this weekend and apparently Josie insisted on flying in as early as possible to see you. Melody, who you suspect is still scared of you because of the time you threatened to have a boy killed, calls Josie sappy for it. Josie asks why Melody hates friendship and lesbians so much.

"I'm not -" you start.

Josie's eyes roll real hard. "I don't mean _you_. You're still figuring yourself out in the flannel closet," she says, making Val ooh.

"Okay, but are we gonna go drop our stuff off at the hotel or do I have to carry this shit through all of New York?" Melody asks.

You call the family car and then spend the entire car ride catching up. You've kept up Snapchat streaks and everything but Josie is the only person from Riverdale you've actually kept in touch with. Apparently, Melody has dated and dumped Reggie Mantle and Val has done the same with Archie Andrews but there's significantly more to the story of why Val dumped Archie's ass than Josie had let up on. They also both approve heavily of Toni who Josie won't admit she's now official with.

Val says prom wasn't the same without you there to make a spectacle and dress like you're going to the Met Gala.

Melody says she bets your prom wasn't the same without the Pussycats to introduce all those rich white kids to music.

You tell them they're both right.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Introducing Veronica to Josie isn't really a top priority. However, once you've exhausted your gossip options and played enough Mario Kart to want to kill Val if she hits you with another blue shell, it seems like the best thing to do. Even if you know how bad she'll tease you as soon as Veronica leaves.

You walk them down to the Dakota, making them promise not to say anything to Veronica since she's straight.

"Sure but straight girls are fake," Melody says.

Josie agrees immediately. Val begs to differ, referencing Betty Cooper.

"Are we sure Betsy Ross isn't an alien?" you snort.

"She does totally lack bone structure. And it's kind of suspicious that she somehow find a guy who calls himself Jughead and looks like he crawled out of a Hot Topic display attractive," Val hums thoughtfully. Before anyone else can respond, you're at the Dakota and texting Veronica to tell her you're there.

Veronica takes exactly four minutes to get down to the lobby. She's wearing what you recognize as her version of lounge wear (still including her signature pearls) but with lipstick on and her eyebrows filled in. She'd look good regardless (she always does) but it's a nice gesture; time efficient but still trying to impress your friends. It's cute, actually. Even cuter is the way she smiles brightly and introduces herself like they don't already know who she is. Then again, you think everything Veronica does is cute.

(It is.)

Cutest still is how Veronica lights up when Josie asks what she thinks you should all do and admits that she's actually pre-planned where to go. "Cheryl speaks very highly of you," she explains, "so I've kind of been dying to meet you."

With that, Veronica leads the way to Blueberry Mountain Ice Cream. She holds your hand while you wait in line to order and talks about music and how Beyoncé should have divorced Jay Z and whether or not Louis deserved to make it past boot camp with Josie, Melody, and Val. She splits two malt scoops with you again (this time you finish an entire scoop and even eat some of the cone to her satisfaction) which Josie raises her eyebrow and Melody mouths the word gay at. She loses horribly at mini golf and laughs breathlessly while accusing you of being a cheater ("she's been cheating at mini golf since the sixth grade!" Josie agrees without hesitation).

You don't stop smiling once. Even when Melody and Veronica get into discussing the fact that they heard "R-O-C-K me again" as "I won't see Katie again" when it was _definitely_ supposed to sound like "I won't seek Amy again."

By the end of the night, Veronica has the Pussycat seal of approval and permission to collab with them once they get a record deal. ("It's going to happen," Veronica tells them after a spontaneous acapella rendition of Little Black Dress on the subway, "people _shut up_ to listen to us, New Yorkers wouldn't even do that for One Direction themselves.")

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

With Mommy's blessing (most likely because she hates seeing you), you stay the night in the Pussycat's hotel room, sharing a bed with Josie and her leg sprawled over you. It takes them a good half hour to run out of jokes about you making heart eyes at Veronica all night. It takes another to run out of jokes about how whipped you are when you're not even getting any. And then they start in on the general gay jokes.

"Homophobia is Veronica not knowing you're in love with her," Val says from her shared bed with Melody.

"I mean where's the lie?" Melody laughs.

You pry the pillow out from under Josie's head to toss in their direction, shouting, "your face is homophobic!" It's the first time you've ever been so carefree about this. You're nine blocks away from the Dakota but part of you is still terrified Mommy will overhear you somehow.

Moving her head to your stomach, Josie snorts. "Ooh, you really got her there, sugar," she tells you, shifting to try and make herself comfortable.

"The behavior you exhibited was white," Melody calls out, "the lack of melanin jumped out."

Laughing, you chuck your own pillow at her.

"Thanks, Cher-Cher!" Val says at the same time that Josie whines about you giving them all of your pillows. She's forced by threats of Josie telling her future children that she dated Archie Andrews to return both of them by the time you actually go to sleep.

It's the most peaceful you've slept outside of Veronica's bed since you came to New York.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Kendall is visiting her grandma but Veronica asks if she can invite Nick to the Pussycats' gig. Val is extremely excited by the idea of meeting Nick St. Clair so even though Melody is entirely underwhelmed by the concept, he's approved. The only condition is that he can't bring any drugs since Josie's mother would kill her for being near them.

When he tries to introduce himself at the club, Josie pushes past him with a "move, I'm gay" and Veronica gives her a look you can't even begin to place. Instead of bringing it up, you ask Veronica if she wants anything to drink while the Pussycats set up.

"A margarita," she says immediately.

Two margaritas later (only one for her and the other for you after you told her you wanted to be able to remember Josie's performance tomorrow), you're on the dance floor. Veronica's dancing is a lot cleaner than it had been at prom but she's almost just as touchy. Except tonight that touching is mostly just holding onto your hands and occasionally grabbing your hips to loosen you up.

There's an entire zoo inside your stomach but this time, you throw your head back and laugh when Veronica's own hips do that _thing_ again.

After three songs, your throat is getting dry from watching Veronica. You're on an adrenaline high and your heart is pounding along to the beat of each song so your hand falls to her waist. "We should do shots," you say too loudly.

She nods and slides her hand to your hip to guide you back to the bar. Her hand stays on your hip as she downs four shots with her free hand and you down three before getting grossed out by the taste. Then Veronica smiles too close to your face and laughs, "okay now back to your Shakira impression, Bombshell."

This time, you dance with less inhibition. Like you've got your ass up against her the way you're supposed to dance with boys.

You're treading the line of friend and girlfriend heavily but Veronica keeps giggling so this is okay. This qualifies as playful. As long as you say no homo when you're sober you're allowed to touch this much. You're taking advantage of this but you can tell yourself you were too buzzed to know that later. You won't feel (too) bad.

(Except maybe you should feel guilty about the way you're starting to ache between your thighs the longer this keeps up.)

And then Josie starts singing about brown eyes and long legs which is so Veronica it hurts. Then the way you're dancing up on her is suddenly not even vaguely passable for platonic.

(You don't really think the way Veronica doesn't let go of your hips is platonic either.)

Someone wolf whistles.

You stop to ask Veronica if she wants to get out of here. She says yes.

Your head is spinning when you open the door to her limo. You don't know what you're doing or why you suggested this but you do know Veronica agreed to it. She slumps down next to you in silence. For a minute she says nothing at all, just sits there with her seat belt off and her hand toying with the length of your fingers. She's almost a snake in waiting, listening to know if your heart is still pounding as hard as it was in the club.

Listening to know the flaw - _part_ of you you spent seventeen years pretending doesn't exist.

You don't think you want her to stop.

She does, of course. Like whatever happened on that dance floor didn't and like you're leaving the club because one of you got sick or something, Veronica hums that she wants the radio on. "Next station," she says three times before she's satisfied. It's the last minute or so of an Ariana song you're too fixated on the way she's drawing patterns onto the back of your hand to place. "That was some dancing," she whispers, sounding a lot more sober than she had before.

You swallow dryly. Guiltily. Is there anything straight you can say to that? 'I'm sorry, I'm drunk-ish, I wasn't thinking,' maybe. Would she believe you?

"Don't," she mumbles, her fingers lingering on the stamp bordering your wrist.

She goes still, listening for your heart or the bass of the song again, and then kisses it, gentle and almost platonic.

Your breath hitches and your toes curl anyway.

"Don't take it back," another kiss, this time open mouthed. "Don't apologize," another, higher now. "Don't tell me," higher again, "you didn't mean it," again, "don't tell me," and again, "you like _Nick_ ," the Ariana song ends, "or you don't like girls," Partition starts and your stomach clenches, "just don't."

You don't (or maybe you can't) so Veronica kisses every inch of your arm.

Her lips reach your shoulder before grazing your collar bone and a sharp whimper slips out your mouth. You can feel the outline of her smile at the column of your throat once she's gotten your choker off. It might just be the hottest thing you've ever felt. That should scare you but it's hard to be scared with Veronica Lodge smearing whatever's left of her lipstick into hickeys across your neck and jaw.

You twist your whole body to catch her bottom lip between both of yours. It's pathetic but kissing her lights something inside of you on fire.

Veronica is gentler than in late night dreams that leave you aching but the way she squeezes your ass, practically grabbing a handful through your dress, and pulls back to gasp that sounds a lot like "cake by the pound" is somehow even more shameless than the way you'd been grinding into her in the club.

It's not entirely clear if she pulls you by the hips onto her thigh or if you crawl into it but either way her thigh is pressing into you. She's got one hand around as much of your ass as she can hold and the other tangled in your hair. It's like she's trying to make it as hard as possible to _not_ ride her until you can't cum anymore

Feeling both ridiculously inadequate and more turned on than you knew you could get, you nip at her earlobe.

She groans at that, digging her nails into your hips.

You drag your teeth down her neck, all slow and purposeful, and she does it again, louder now. You hope the partition is up but the aching between your legs worsens at the thought of it being down, of the driver being able to see you with your mouth all over Veronica like she's yours. It's the cherry margarita you'd been sipping all night, you're sure, but knowing that doesn't make you any drier.

Veronica is kissing you again before you can linger on that. She's got her hands on either side of your face and her tongue in your mouth and you don't think you ever want her to stop.

Your hips buck against their own accord and the feeling of her thigh against your clit combined with the wet moan that she graces you with is too much for you to not start riding her. "Fuck," you gasp, "oh fuck."

She laughs gently and for a second you're scared you ruined it. "You look," she kisses your throat, "so good, C," and then her hands are on your hips again, fixing your rhythm. " _So_ good," she mumbles against your jaw. Veronica keeps on like that, mumbling praise against your skin as she kisses every inch of you she can. She's got you whimpering like a goddamn mess and thinking you might start crying if that wouldn't make you the worst fuck she's ever had in no time.

"Can... c - can - _God_ \- I touch you?" You choke out as pathetic as ever with your head thrown back.

Veronica nibbles your collarbone before she says, "God, yes, _please_ ," and you scramble to push the straps of her dress down her shoulders.

Your nails are too long to finger her and you're not totally sure you would know how to if you tried so instead you take to exploring her chest. Something like a whine leaves her lips as your nails scrape towards her nipples. You can barely believe she can look and sound and feel this good right now.

"Pinch... shit - pinch it, babe," she groans, one of her hands teasing around your clit.

You pinch and Veronica swears sharply. You twist and her breath hitches. You lower your lips to kiss every inch of her chest and she arches into you.

"I love - _Cheryl_ \- your lips," she mutters, finally starting to play with your clit, "I love your ass too... your neck... your legs... your hips... eyes..."

The more she praises you, the closer you get. From head to toe, your body feels like it's on fire. You've let boys touch you, in dark closets and in the middle of parties, and you've more than just touched yourself but it's never felt this good. You've never gotten this _close_ before and this time, Veronica twisting your clit and your lips all over her, you think you'll finally cum.

Veronica's free hand moves from your hip to your ass, tracing patterns like when she holds your hand to comfort you. "I love... how you look at me... how you think you're - God - discreet... the way you wear... wear my coat... how jealous you get... how you laugh... when you let me - fuck - see you... the real you... I love - " her leg shifts up, pressing harder into you, and you practically convulse on her. Both her hands shoot back to your hips, rocking you through your orgasm.

You're a gasping, sweaty mess with ruined underwear and fucked up post-sex hair but you've never once felt better.

"Good girl," Veronica murmurs.

"You - you didn't..." you trail off, exhausted now.

"It's fine, babygirl," she tilts your chin up and kisses you, "you can pay me back later."

Frowning, you press a few kisses to her jaw. "Are you sure?" It doesn't feel fair for you to finish and leave Veronica hanging like that. Your nails are too long but you think with some coaching you could learn to eat a girl out if you could just get some caffeine or something.

She laughs softly, "mhm. Besides, you're a bottom." Before you can be properly offended by that, Veronica kisses the top of your head. You can bring it up later. Next time, like she said.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The next morning, with Prada sunglasses hiding your hangover, you get coffee with Josie.

"The Pussycats were amazing as always."

Josie gives you a look that loosely translates to "I can't even deal with you trying to play like this."

"So I take it you noticed?"

"I noticed you grinding up on Veronica and then disappearing before the Pussycats got through Candy Girl, yeah."

Shame creeps in. "I... you _were_ really good."

Josie sips her latte slowly. "Did you two finally have sex?"

"... yes."

"Okay. I'll forgive you for bailing on me this time, but only 'cause I know how long you've been pining after her. Now, tell me how it was. You bottomed, right?"

You flush at that. "Why does everyone think I'm a bottom!?"

"It's the chokers, sugar."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Veronica doesn't show up at school on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday.

Her nails are the shortest you've ever seen them on Thursday.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

You're too busy preparing for graduation to hang out with anyone on Friday, Monday, and Tuesday. On Wednesday, Nick shows up on the steps of Spence waiting for you and Veronica so regardless of if you have anything to do, you go with them to Nick's penthouse. He offers a blunt and Veronica is happy to oblige.

For awhile, everything is normal. Veronica makes eyes at you through dark lashes, you try to breathe when you brush hands with her while passing the blunt around (even if Nick barely takes any hits), and Nick talks about some girl he screwed last weekend. Then he asks about what girls you've screwed.

You choke on the smoke Veronica just blew at you.

"C'mon, Cher," he says, his hand lazily running up your arm, "I saw you two at the club."

On your other side, Veronica stiffens uncomfortably. She's got her gaze locked firmly on where he won't stop touching you, like if she looks hard enough it'll catch fire. "Nicky, we were just drunk," she says slowly.

He rests his hand on the side of your throat. His thumb takes to circling your collar bone like he doesn't see how little you want him to be touching you right now. "Mmm... but you left together, Ronnie. That's not really fair, y'know," he starts, "I mean, shit, we're always flirting but you never put out for me..." his hand creeps down to your thigh. "And Cher... you're always so jealous of that. You want me too, right?"

You try not to think about how two months ago you would have killed for this.

"Nick, _stop_ ," Veronica's voice cracks as she yanks his arm away from you.

He doesn't even hesitate to smack her. The sound is sharp in your ears, like the way it sounded when Daddy used to do it. You flinch at it. "Stop pretending you don't want it," he hisses, "you're both skanks. Putting out for each other but stringing me along. For fucking years, Ronnie, I'm _tired_ of it." He turns to you and says, "and you. You're dad killed your brother and you think _you're_ good enough to be a tease? I mean, shit, are you both dykes?"

He's trying to tug your blouse over your head when your teeth sink into his hand.

You don't stop biting until you taste blood.

Veronica punches him square in the face afterwards, then kicks the _shit_ out of him, takes your hand, and leaves. She's still trembling when you get into the elevator. Still trembling when she says, "it was a mistake. I - the limo. It was... it was a mistake. We were drunk, we weren't thinking clearly, it was a mistake." She says it so final, like she's spent the last two weeks practicing this in her bathroom mirror.

You believe her, so you walk out of the elevator without saying anything at all.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Nick stops coming around. Veronica does too.

 **June**

Graduation is around the corner and you still aren't talking to Veronica. Not talking to her doesn't mean you're getting over her. You haven't stopped dreaming about what happened in the limo or daydreaming about the way she smiles and you aren't sure which of those things is worse.

Josie tells you she thinks you need closure but that's the most you let her say about it. It's still eating at you and you know Josie can see that but you won't give her a chance to bring it up. Instead you pass your last days of high school talking about how Jughead Jones and Betty Cooper broke up and Jughead's got a thing for Toni and how Archie Andrews has finally figured out his Troy Bolton-esque personality crisis. You talk about Jason too. About the time you almost got grounded for getting him to drive you out of town to one of Josie's gigs. About the time Val swears up and down she saw him cry about Backstreet Boys. About when he would let them put makeup on him at sleepovers.

You don't talk about how he would have adored Veronica or how she made you feel like you weren't alone.

But Josie has been your best friend since you were four years old. She knows.

(She doesn't know what happened right before Veronica told you it was a mistake and you stopped talking. You don't want anyone to know. You don't think Veronica does either since Nick is still prowling around New York.)

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

You graduate the same day Josie does.

Veronica is there for some of her friends. She doesn't say anything at all to you.

(You still catch her staring at you three times.)

* * *

 **A/N:** \- the pacing of the last part of this was kind of weird trust me i know but i've been trying to write it for SO long i kind of just couldn't put up with writing it anymore

\- the ariana song in the limo was gay anthem that deserved to go #1 into you, that isn't technically important but also it totally is bc it absolutely pushed veronica to make a move

\- originally I was writing cheryl as a lesbian bc I 100% thought the archie thing was comp het but I have no idea what she's supposed to be on the show so. also veronica and val are bi and josie and melody are lesbians

\- ik choni is what's actually canon but I started this before they ever even were in the same scene and josie/toni is like. a crackship yes but the raw potential of the mayor's daughter and a south side serpent falling in love is amazing

\- sorry im like this


End file.
